The devils chalice, p.28
The Devil's Chalice, page 28
part #3 of Thomas Treviot Series
‘F-Foolish boy! Grovelling to the P-Protector and his friends.’
‘So, you devised a plan to teach him a lesson?’
‘I? N-No.’ He paused awkwardly, either wondering how to explain or debating how much he should confide in this stranger. ‘William is not a b-bad man but he l-lacks a feel for t-t-tradition and that is vital for s-someone in the p-position he was to inherit.’
‘So sending him to the magus to buy a counterfeit poison was to teach him a lesson? ’Twas a very elaborate plot.’
‘N…Not mine. I was complaining about William one d…day and s..someone suggested this p.plan.’
‘Who was this someone, My Lord? Whoever it was did you a grievous wrong.’
‘No m…matter.’ The old man turned abruptly and strode back down the aisle. ‘’Tis too late now and n…nothing to be done. William has s….signed a c…confession. Nothing can s…save him now.’
Chapter 22
‘A confession?’ I exclaimed. The door creaked as I closed it behind us. ‘Then, for sure it must have been tortured from him.’
The old man said nothing until he was once more in the saddle. As he looked down, I detected, for the first time in his gaunt features, a suggestion of concern for his nephew. ‘It sh-should not have happened.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked as I mounted. But De La Warr was already clattering along the lane.
When we were once more riding side by side, he said, ‘Can you n-not see, M-Master Treviot, I had to m-m-make him understand his responsibilities – the p-past as well as the f-f-future?’
‘Believe me, my Lord, I see that very well indeed. I am the third generation Treviot as a member of the Honourable Company of Goldsmiths. I would dearly love my son to be the fourth generation. Alas, he has no taste for the business. It would be wrong of me to force him to become my apprentice.’
‘’Tis his d-duty,’ De La Warr protested.
‘To take charge of a business for which he has neither love nor skill? Nay, ’twould ruin all, I think. Treviots would, like as not, fail within a few years.’
‘A s-strange philosophy. M-Mayhap it will work for m-m-m…’
‘Mere merchants, my Lord?’ I prompted.
The old man turned to me and the smallest ghost of a smile flitting across his features. ‘I b-believe I may have m-misjudged you, M-Master Treviot.’
I decided to press home my advantage. ‘Whose idea was it to lay false charges against William? His grace suspected that William – and you, my Lord – were being used by unscrupulous schemers, whose only interest was to undermine the Protector and his friends.’
‘But how?’ The question was almost a wail. ‘I c-c-can see no c-c-connection.’
‘I understand your bewilderment, My Lord. It has taken me many days to sort out what was afoot and I have no reached the bottom of the well yet. As I see it, there was no carefully-constructed plot. The conspirators, like yourself, longed to see a return to the old, Catholic, order. Unlike yourself, they would use any means to achieve their ends. Rumours, rebellions, murders, abductions – nothing was rejected that might be used to shake Somerset’s hold on power.’
‘But William…’
‘Is on close terms with Sir John Cheke and others of the Protector’s intimates. I believe the duke’s enemies hoped, by implicating William in black magic and poison plots, to cast suspicion on his friends.’
We seemed to be retracing our steps to the manor house, his lordship’s ‘estate business’ apparently forgotten. De La Warr listened attentively to my theory.
‘I l-liked not the P-P-Protector, but I was not p-part of any p-plot against him.’
‘I am sure of it, my Lord. You were duped. The conspirators played on your ancestral pride and your desire to have William continue your traditional ways in this fine estate. As a result, your heir faces execution and then your patrimony will be passed to distant relatives – perhaps even broken up. You may be sure that the men behind this plot will not lose a moment’s sleep over that prospect.’
‘Mary and all the s-saints!’ the old man cried aloud, stirring a pair of pigeons from their branches. ‘If you are right, they will p-p-pay for their villainy. I will be revenged, though I s-swing for it!’
‘Pray God, it comes not to that, my Lord. We may yet see justice done – and save William. I made a promise to your nephew and I intend to keep it.’
•
As I rode back to London the next day I had several hours to reflect on the assurance that I had given the distraught De La Warr. One voice in my head told me that I had been foolishly rash to offer the old man any hope. But another voice was quick to reply. ‘The conspirators have achieved their objective,’ it said. ‘The Protector has been plucked down. So they have no need to continue their persecution of William West or their threats against you.’ ‘Ah, that is all very well,’ Voice Number One protested, ‘but Robert Allen and his friends are still bent on revenge. You and those you love are not yet safe.’ To that, there was no answer.
The more I considered how I had been lured, seduced, cajoled into treacherous, fast-moving waters that threatened to overwhelm me and my family, the angrier I became. Southampton, Warwick, the archbishop and all their creatures on the Council were used to the rapids and whirlpools of politics. Well, let them jostle for power! Let them squabble over the Protector’s replacement! But why should innocent citizens like William West and Raphael Treviot be destroyed by their ambitious stratagems? It was no easy matter to push such splenetic resentment to one side and force myself to think clearly but, while my companions chattered among themselves, I used the journey to go over everything that had happened since that day more than three months earlier when I had been commissioned by the archbishop to undertake a ‘simple’ task which, I was assured, had no political implications. I tried to piece together every event and every conversation. I analysed things said and things not said, comments seemingly unimportant at the time but now significant. I made myself remember details – the look askance that accompanied a lie, the tight-lipped silence prompted by fear, the hatred smouldering in a man’s eyes.
By the time we made our last brief stop at an alehouse in Kingston I had constructed from all these fragments a story which, though complex, was the only one that made sense. It allowed all the little schemes and plots to find their place within an overall plan and it identified the minds in which this plan had been conceived.
Knowing all this was one thing. Proving it was, of course, another. Even that would not be as difficult as persuading the men in power to act on the evidence I had assembled. Yet, unless I could achieve that, I had achieved nothing. It was time to make a plan of my own; to take a lesson in cunning and deviousness from those more accomplished than I in manipulating men and events. Although the hour was late when we reached London I lost no time in contacting those I intended to enlist in my conspiracy. I rode straight to Milk Street and presented my scheme to Ned and Bart.
As we sat around the fire in their main room, my friends listened in silence to my proposal.
‘I have considered every other option I can think of,’ I concluded, ‘but I am sure this is the only way to be free of the threat hanging over us.’
The others stared at me in wide-eyed silence.
‘You seriously intend to confront the most powerful men in the land?’ Ned demanded, at last.
‘’Tis more a matter of getting them to confront each other,’ I said.
Bart gave a cynical half-laugh. ‘Hah! You think they will listen to you? Even if they are rivals for power, they will support each other against your accusations. That sort always stick together.’
‘I believe the archbishop will stand by me,’ I replied, ‘and old De La Warr, for all his haughtiness, trusts me, I think.’
Bart was unconvinced. ‘”Believe”? “Think”? I would want more certainty before I put my trust in great lords.’
‘So your recommendation is to do nothing!’ I snapped. ‘We must just wait for Allen to organise fresh outrages from his cell in the Tower! Well, I doubt we shall have to wait long.’
Ned stretched out a foot to turn a log in the fire. ‘It seems we are sailing between the Scylla of frustration and the Charybdis of fear. You look to starboard, Thomas, and see the perilous shallows of inaction and Bart’s eyes are fixed on the rocks of hostile reaction that lie to port! Pray God, there is a channel deep enough for our purpose but it will take some finding.’
‘Fine words, Ned,’ I said, ‘but they take us no further forward.’
He nodded. ‘Fairly said. Yet, forgive me if I press the nautical analogy a stage further. The only guiding star we dare follow is truth. You would have to present an account of the facts so clear and so precise that there can be no gainsaying them. Allen and his accomplices and his masters will wriggle and squirm. We may expect nothing from them save plain denials and counter-accusations. We must be prepared for that. Bart is right. These great men will only act if the plain truth leaves them no other alternative.’
‘’Twill not be easy,’ I admitted, ‘and, more than ever before, I will need the support of my friends. I know I am asking much of you. Are you content to do what we have discussed?’
Both men nodded unsmiling – an acquiescence which was more than I had a right to ask.
•
I spent most of the next two days arranging hurried meetings with John Cantrill and Edward Underhill. My proposal amazed them but, being young men of spirit, they took little persuading. My next task was to visit Cranmer. I rode down to Whitehall early on Monday 24 October. Never had I seen the archbishop’s antechamber so full or so frenzied. Two of the archiepiscopal guards had been posted at the door to the inner chamber and they were kept busy turning away importunate supplicants and arguing with suitors who tried to assert some right of entry. When I asked one of these sentinels to convey a message I was met with the curt reply, ‘His grace is very busy.’ Hours passed. It seemed that my plan was doomed to fail before it had begun. Then I saw Ralph Morice emerge from the inner room and make his way through the throng with hurried steps.
‘Thomas!’ He looked genuinely pleased to see me but too distracted to stop and talk. ‘If you have come to call on his grace, you have chosen a bad day… Not that there is a good day at present. ’Tis like Bedlam here,’ he added grimly.
‘Why all this commotion?’ I asked.
‘Change at the top of the ladder means change all the way down. Somerset and his closest supporters are out. So all ambitious men in the kingdom are ajostle to take their places. I am on my way to the Lord Chamberlain’s office with a list of his grace’s recommendations of new men for the privy chamber.’
I fell into step beside him and we made our way along the passageways that formed the thoroughfares of the little city that was Whitehall Palace.
‘Ralph, it really is vital that I have a few words with his grace,’ I said.
‘Is this still about the West affair?’
‘Yes and no.’
‘I am afraid that is rather a long way down his grace’s agenda now. I do not exaggerate when I say that he is fighting to save all that has been achieved since old King Harry freed us from the tyranny of Rome. Amidst all the confusion, Southampton and Arundel hope to take over the government. You know what that would mean: Princess Mary to become regent and under the influence of her cousin, the Emperor; England meekly submitting to Rome and the Catholic heresy restored. Our main hope is the Earl of Warwick but even he is wavering. The situation is absolutely critical.’
‘Exactly! And that is why I must speak with the archbishop.’
Ralph halted abruptly. ‘You have new information? You have stumbled across something important?’
‘I know exactly what is afoot – what has been in the planning these last months, and who is behind it.’
‘Truly? Then tell me!’ He stared at me eagerly.
‘’Tis only for his grace’s ears. But you may trust me. I would not intrude upon him at such a time were I not the bearer of vital information.’
Ralph nodded. ‘His grace trusts you, and not without reason. Pray God your news is as important as you say. We are desperate to turn the tide on the papists. Come!’ He turned and led the way back to Cranmer’s quarters.
The archbishop listened in complete silence to what I had come to say. His face betrayed no emotion. When I had finished I did not know whether he would dismiss me for my presumption or congratulate me for my diligence. He did neither.
He rose from his chair. ‘This demands prayer,’ he said, and left through the door leading to his private oratory.
Half an hour or more passed before he returned and took his place behind the table. He looked up at me with careworn eyes. ‘I believe you have discovered the truth, Thomas, and you have done so at great cost. What you ask of me is presumptuous. Yet, it would be presumptuous of me to deny you, after all you have suffered. It would be even more presumptuous of me to turn my back on the truth. I will make the necessary arrangements for Friday. I would urge you to spend the intervening days in much prayer.’
It was with mingled relief and anxiety that I made my way home. Within the week, I reflected, either there would be an end of all our woes or I would probably be joining William West as a prisoner in the Tower. At my house, I was met by a scene of anguish.
‘Oh, Thomas, Thomas, it has happened again!’ Adie threw herself into my arms. ‘They have taken Raffy.’
Lizzie, standing behind her, said, ‘I feared Boyes would not take defeat so easy.’
‘What happened?’ I demanded.
‘Better let Captain Cantrill tell you,’ Adie said. ‘He is come in person to explain.’
Cantrill was seated in the parlour, a flagon of ale before him. He jumped to his feet when I entered. ‘Thomas, I am so sorry. My men have failed you. I should have doubled the guard on your son but I did not reckon these wretches would strike again. I ignored one of the basic military rules – never underestimate your enemy.’ He described how Raffy had been abducted a second time.
In truth, there was little to tell. Raffy and his guard had set out in mid-morning to return to Ely House at the Earl of Warwick’s behest. They were clear of the City and had crossed Holborn Bridge. Halfway up Holborn Hill they were confronted by a dozen or more masked horsemen. Cantrill’s men had put up a good fight but the odds were against them. One of the villains grabbed Raffy’s reins and set off down Shoe Lane with some of his copesmates while the others prevented the troopers from following. ‘’Tis my belief they were making for Bridewell Dock. I have already sent men across to Southwark to watch Boyes’ base there.’
‘A good move, John, though I doubt they would be so foolish as to return there.’
Adie collapsed into a chair. ‘For sure they will kill him this time,’ she wailed.
‘No, Sweetheart, fret you not. Raffy is worth more to them alive than dead. They will try to bargain with him.’
‘So what are we to do?’
‘First, we will post notices all over town offering a reward for any information.’ I turned to Bart. ‘Will you see to that? Oh, and while you are out attend to that other matter. The archbishop has fixed the meeting for Friday and, now, it is more important than ever.’
Cantrill said, ‘I will send patrols out and bring in some of the City’s worse villains for questioning. News travels fast in their community. If anyone knows aught of your son, by all the saints, we will have it out of them.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Then there is no more to be done but wait for news and pray.’
In fact, there was much to be done. Over the next few days, our shop was visited by a succession of visitors, all claiming to have seen Raffy and hoping to share in the reward. We took details of these supposed sightings and I had men follow up the few – the very few – that seemed genuine.
What occupied most of my time was the precise planning for the Friday meeting in Cranmer’s Whitehall lodging. There were several intricate details to be arranged, all of which had to come together in the right sequence. By Thursday morning, all the pieces seemed to be in place, except one. Despite Bart’s vigilance, he had failed to locate the one person who was vital to my reconstruction of events. Each evening Bart returned to Goldsmiths’ Row with mournful countenance. ‘Still no sign,’ he reported at the end of Wednesday vigil. ‘Are you sure you are right about the address?’
‘I must be,’ I said. ‘’Tis the only one that fits the facts.’ But I was not as confident as I sounded. Again and again, I questioned my interpretation of events. If I was wrong about this one then I would be like the man in the Bible story who built his house on sand. I would have no case to present to the archbishop and the sceptical audience he was assembling to hear my story.
After dinner on Thursday, I was in the workshop, trying to distract myself overseeing the execution of some jewellery designs. The door from the shop flew open and Bart strode in. ‘Yes!’ he shouted, unable to contain his excitement.‘You found him?’
‘Aye. He was where you said. I followed him to a fair house in Sydon Lane. Expensive. When I asked a pair of urchins in the street who lodged there, they gave the name “Stanley”.’
‘Stanley! Henry Stanley! Good!’
‘You already suspected him?’
‘Suspected? No, but I am not surprised. I recall hearing something about him from Sir William Paget. This is the missing fragment torn from the picture. Now all fits together. You have sent word to Cantrill?’
‘Immediately.’
‘Then tomorrow cannot come soon enough.’
•
On Friday 28 October I arrived at Whitehall shortly before noon. I was met in Cranmer’s quarters by a visibly nervous Ralph Morice.
‘Much hangs on this, Thomas,’ he said, firmly grasping my hand. You will need all your powers of persuasion.’
‘If the leading council members are here all I can do is present them with the truth.’
‘They are expected for dinner in an hour or so. His grace has sent a pressing invitation, urging them to set faction aside and form a united government. After the meal, he will present you to them as an important suitor. I will come and fetch you to the chamber. Meanwhile, I have had some vacant offices across the courtyard made ready for you and those who are giving testimony.’
